


A Time to Mourn

by MissCrazyWriter321



Series: For Everything A Season [1]
Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Death of a Child, F/M, Garcia Flynn needs hugs, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, LetFlynnGrieve2k18, canonical character deaths, this one hurts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-21 00:05:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16148390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissCrazyWriter321/pseuds/MissCrazyWriter321
Summary: An unexpected discovery spends Flynn into a spiral of heartbreak. Thankfully, Lucy is there to pick up the pieces.





	A Time to Mourn

**Author's Note:**

> One of my favorite tropes is Lucy comforting Flynn, and when this idea occurred to me, I couldn't walk away. Fair warning, the tags are no lie. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing but my ideas. I was just borrowing the characters, and they'd probably like me to give them back now. Sorry, Flynn.

Wars are terrible. He's fought in enough of them to know this by now.

Still, this is different. Worse. His stomach churns, and he shuts his eyes tightly, willing the images away. The sounds, echoing through his mind. Old wounds ripped open and salted, leaving him achy and lost.

Lorena. Iris. 

( _ Iris. _ His little girl. His whole world. She didn't deserve this, not even a little bit, and it was all his fault. Rittenhouse may have done it, but if he could have just minded his own business, Iris would still be alive.)

During their latest raid on a Rittenhouse safehouse, they found videos, hundreds of them. Every hit Rittenhouse ever ordered, recorded as proof that the hits were carried out. Even Lucy couldn't stop him from watching, from seeing his family one last time.

He should have listened to her.

He can still see the video in his mind's eye, can see Lorena's panicked expression, her mouth half-open. _ "Gar-" _

She had tried to call to him, to call for help. Something he never knew, and wishes he could forget. (And Iris... He can't think of Iris. He's barely holding it together as it is.)

How he's back at the bunker now, he isn't entirely sure. He has vague memories of Lucy taking him arm, tugging him away from the video. Thinks Rufus might have been half-supporting him as he walked away. But try as he might, he can't get a clearer picture than that.

Still, he's here now, back in his military issue bed, trying not to break. He hasn’t cried for them since Lucy handed him that journal, has refused to let himself. Crying for them would feel too much like giving up on them, and he can’t. He won’t. Not with a time machine still at his disposal, and Lucy still by his side.

A soft scraping noise alerts him to the door slowly opening. He ignores it; if it's anyone but Lucy, he doesn't want to see them, and if it's her... He isn't quite sure he has the strength to look up at her. Hopefully, she'll understand.

Footsteps draw closer, to the side of his bed, and he's now sure it's her. He knows her footsteps, knows the sound of her unsteady breathing, and can recognize the softest trace of her perfume. He knows her too well, probably.

"Flynn?" Gentle. Non-threatening. So much like that day in Sao Paulo, when she approached him with a journal and a promise. "Can I come in?"

He doesn't bother to point out that she's already in, just nods, weakly. Forces his eyes open to meet hers. There's such warmth there, mixed with tenderness and concern, and he hones in on that. Focuses. Blocking out the rest of the world.

"Are you-" She starts, then falters. "Can I help?" She asks instead. Good. No, he isn't okay. Isn't sure he knows how to be, in this moment.

It's an effort to respond, but he manages. "I don't know."

He hates this, hates not being able to help her. For months now, he's tried to be her support, to hold her together, and now... Now, he doesn't have anything left.

She bites her lip. "Do you want me to leave?"

"No!" He doesn't mean to answer so quickly, doesn't want her to feel obligated to stay, but panic surges through him at the thought of her leaving his side, leaving him to spiral alone. "I mean... If you want-"

In two steps, she's at the edge of his bed, her hand on his shoulder, grounding him. "I'm here. I'm here."

Steadying. Tender. Soft.

Whatever fears she has about what's happening between them, (and she must have them; he's seen the way she freezes sometimes, when he looks at her too long, or smiles at her too brightly,) she seems to have set them aside.

"I'm right here."

He lets his eyes fall shut. Leans into her touch, resting his cheek atop her hand. After a long second, she cards her fingers through his hair with her free hand, nails scratching his scalp. The sensations wash over him, creeping through the battered, broken shell around his heart.

Safe. She makes him feel safe, like the world around them couldn't possibly touch him.

Tears once again threaten to fall, and he swallows them back almost violently, focusing on the soft skin pressed against his face.

Absently, he wonders when he last had someone comfort him. Can't remember anyone since Lorena. (Well, there was his mother, at the moon landing. But she didn't know him, didn't know who he was, and if she had known... Well. She probably would have been horrified. Besides, it wasn't like this.)

It wonderful, it's everything, but still, it's not enough.

"I can't stop hearing them." It's half a confession, half a plea.  _ Fix this, the way you always fix everything.  _ It isn't fair to her, but she doesn't flinch, just squeezes his shoulder, almost too tightly. (Almost. But the pressure is sharp, and it draws his mind away, if only for half a second. It's nothing, but it helps, briefly. Briefly.)

"Flynn-" She whispers, but he hears another voice.

_ "Gar-" _

His stomach churns, and he jerks free from Lucy's hands just in time, turning his head to keep from throwing up on her. She doesn't even hesitate, resting her hand on his back, holding him through it. Still, his eyes close briefly in shame, wishing he could will this entire day away. Lucy’s there. That should be enough, right? "I'm so-"

"No." She's still tender, but there's a new firmness to her tone, as if daring him to argue. "Don't apologize. You didn't do anything wrong."

Today, maybe. He's far from innocent. The things he's done over the years, maybe he deserves this fate. (But they didn't. They never could.)

And yet, she knows that. Knows the things he's done, some of them to her. And she's still here, still with him.

"Come on." She tugs at the back of his shirt, and he follows her before he even thinks about it, letting her pull him off the bed and to his feet. He thinks his knees might give out, but then she slips under his arm, holding him up. "Let's get you somewhere to sleep. I'll take care of the sheets in the morning."

He wants to protest-she's not his maid-but arguing with her is a fool's task when he's at his best, and right now, he clearly isn't. So he lets her lead him.

To his surprise, their first stop is the washroom. She soaks a rag in warm water, and presses it against his face, washing away any traces of sick. He keeps his eyes closed, avoiding hers, but he can't quite resist leaning into her healing touch. Oh, but he needs this. Hasn’t been touched like this in forever, hasn’t had anyone to take care of him.

His heart twists without warning. Everything is too _ much,  _ and her gentle care is too _ kind, _ and-

He shatters.

She catches him, setting aside the rag, rubbing his back with one hand as she guides him down to the floor. Distantly, he remembers that this is the worst possible place for this, that anyone could come in at any time, but he can’t seem to remember how to breathe. He holds onto Lucy, probably too tightly, burying his face in her shoulder. 

She doesn’t falter. Strokes his hair, presses feather-light kisses to the top of his head, and holds him through the storm. (Just like she did in Sao Paulo. For the past two years, she’s slowly become that woman, but he’s never seen it quite so clearly as he does now.) Her touch is familiar, and it soothes him more than he can explain. 

“You’re not giving up on them,” she whispers against his head. Because of course, of course she knows. “You just miss them. That’s okay.” She swallows, and the next words are impossibly soft. “You’re allowed to miss them.”

After, when he’s spent, when her delicate fingers have wiped away the last traces of his tears, he mechanically brushes his teeth, and follows her to what has become the living room. They end up on the couch where she supposedly sleeps, her on one end, him at the other. She tugs at his sleeve until he lays down, his head resting on her lap. Too tired to question it, he simply gives in. (And his legs may dangle off the edge, but he doesn't mind so much. Not when she's stroking his hair, holding him close, lulling him into sleep.)

After a long moment, an unexpected noise fills the air, soft and lilting.

She's humming, he realizes, a bit distantly. He wants to stay awake, to listen to her voice, but exhaustion is finally catching up with him, her touch and her presence chasing away the darkness.

He's asleep before she finishes the first verse.

**Author's Note:**

> You know, I really can write fluff. I promise. (Ignore the fact that more than half of my fics are tagged "hurt/comfort," guys.) Anyway, I hoard reviews like a fanfiction dragon. And if anyone has any ideas for some fluff to write after this angst train, I'm open to suggestions. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading.


End file.
